Authors: Felicia Rogers
By God's Grace (9 page)
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When Bryce arrived at Arbella's room, the door was ajar, cracked open as if someone had tried to close the door, but something was in the way.
With a jerk, he pulled. When he saw what held the door open, his heart plummeted. A protruding leg! Duncan was furious with him for just leaving his post. What would the Laird do if something actually happened to his future bride?
He'd warned Grant that he was a sheepherder, not a warrior. Grant's answer was, “Keep your mouth shut, and no one will notice.” Grant had always looked out for him, the youngest Cameron cousin. He told him all the time he looked the part of a Highland warrior.
Since he looked the part, all he needed was sword training, which Grant was happy to supply. Now Bryce feared the training needed was not so he could protect the keep, but so he could fall on the sword.
Unable to back down no matter what might be waiting on the other side, Bryce pushed harder. A gasp escaped his lips. It was Tamara. Covered in a jumbled mass of skirts, she was a small heap on the cold floor. Her inanimate body was what had kept the door from closing. Shock caused him to falter. Numb from the last couple of events, he watched as Tamara stirred.
Leaning down, he asked, “Tamara, are ye all right?”
She pushed up on one arm, her hand holding her head. “Aye, give me a moment.”
Bryce squatted. “What happened to ye?”
“I don't remember.”
Bryce peered inside the room. Concern laced his voice as he asked, “Where is Arbella?”
Tamara shifted her head to follow his gaze. Then looking at him, she asked, “Arbella? What do ye mean? She was just here.”
“Well, she's not here now. So where is she?”
Tamara struggled to a standing position and leaned against the door. A nasty purple bruise formed on her forehead. With gentleness, he asked, “Do ye remember anything? Anything at all?”
Shaking her head, she said, “There â there was a loud banging on the door and I went to open it. I don't remember anything after that.”
“This is not good,” said Bryce, worrying his upper lip.
Tamara tried to scoot past. “Nay, it is not. We need to inform Duncan that Arbella is missing.”
“We don't know that for sure.”
“Bryce, ye sounded smarter when ye didn't speak.” Tamara paused and rubbed her head. “She's not here, so she's missing. We must tell Duncan now. Making him wait won't make him any happier with us.”
“Us?”
“Aye, us. Ye for leaving yer post, and me for unlocking the door to a stranger.”
As if conjured by magic, heavy footfalls were heard coming down the hall. Bryce grabbed Tamara, hoping to glean support. But when Bryce saw Duncan enter the room, he had to hold back his swoon.
****
Duncan stood at the door, studying the room. When he didn't see Arbella in an obvious place, deep furrows dotted his brow. Bryce trembled as Duncan directed his gaze toward him. Tamara stood to the warrior's right side. A deathly pale color graced her face.
Addressing both of them, he asked, “Where is Arbella?”
Bryce didn't answer. Duncan's face turned red. “I asked ye a question.”
Before the man could muster the courage to answer, Tamara collapsed. Without speaking, Duncan slung the maid in his arms like a rag doll and carried her to an empty bed.
After assuring the lass was still breathing, he spun back to face Bryce, determination etching his face. Bryce trembled. Duncan fought the urge to yell at him. Restraining the building anger, he asked again, “Where is Arbella?”
Bryce swallowed as the answer stuttered out. “She was â was here, when â when I came to the main hall, but â but when I came back, the door was ajar, and Tamara was lying behind it.”
Bryce stopped. Duncan waited for him to continue, but his patience was growing thin. There was a murderer on the loose, and he had no clues as to his identity, and now it seemed Arbella was missing. When he could wait no longer, he asked, “Is there anything else?”
“Aye.”
Duncan's patience dangled by a thread. His pulse beat wildly at his neck as the struggle to remain calm was fought within. Poised and ready to beat the information out of the lad if it wasn't revealed soon, he asked, “Do ye like chewing yer food?”
“Aye, my laird.”
“If ye want to keep yer teeth in yer head and not on a necklace, then start talking!”
Bryce's eyes grew as big and round as a platter. Contemplation of how many different ways tooth loss might transpire were obviously flitting through the young man's mind. His face was scrunched up in thought. When the Scot spoke, he said, “Tamara woke for a t-t-time and said someone knocked on the d-d-door after I left.”
Duncan gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw as he listened to Bryce continue.
“Tamara said she answered the door, and that was all she remembers.”
All Duncan's focus shifted to earlier. If Bryce would have followed orders, Arbella would have still been in her room. Feet advancing forward, his hands ached to grab Bryce's thick neck and give it just one squeeze. One squeeze was all it would take.
Bryce hands rose in a defensive posture. “My laird, she might not have said more, but I believe I know more.”
Duncan said, “Go ahead.”
“Tamara has a huge purple bruise on her forehead, which means she was probably struck by the opening door with some force. So it appears to me the door opening with such force must have been on purpose. I don't believe yer lass would have left Tamara in such a state voluntarily. Of course, this doesn't tell us where Arbella is, but what it does tell us is⦔ Bryce finished with dread, “What it does tell us is either she was forced to leave, or she felt leaving was more important than staying.”
Bryce finished his theory at the same moment Grant stumbled into the room. The second-in-command surveyed the area. His gaze lighted on Tamara lying on the bed, and he asked, “Where is Arbella?”
Duncan stared at him, anger oozing from every pore. “Now that is the question, isn't it? Bryce here was just explaining his idea of where she is. He thinks someone knocked on the door, forced it open, knocked Tamara unconscious, and forced Arbella to leave.”
“Ye mean she's gone? But where?”
In a thundering shout, Duncan answered, “
I don't know!
”
Grant cringed. “I will organize the men, and we will search the keep and the grounds from top to bottom. They couldn't have taken the lass far.”
“Agreed.” Duncan's gazed shifted. “Bryce, ye stay with Tamara, and if ye leave her side, I will break every bone in yer body one at a time. Do ye understand?”
“Aye,” came a hoarse whisper.
Duncan followed Grant out into the hallway. Panic was setting in. After all this time, he'd believed he'd found someone to care about. No way would he lose her now.
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When the door closed behind her, Arbella was sure it was a terrible mistake. Whoever had brought her to this place was going to open the door and release her at any moment. But she was wrong.
Eventually Arbella's mind grasped reality. She was in an enclosed, dark space and couldn't get out. There had to be something she could do. Just sitting there would accomplish nothing.
The first attempt at escape was pushing on the door, but it wouldn't budge. The next endeavor was to yell until her throat ached, and the sound coming out resembled a squeaking mouse.
Taking deep breaths, she whispered, “So a rescue is not in progress. No problem.”
Thoughts about what to do next came to mind. Maybe discovering where she was would be of some help.
With her hands outstretched, Arbella felt around the room. The back wall of her confinement was found quickly. The room was small and made out of mud or something similar to it, for when the wall was touched, a part of it came away in her hand. Gulping, she wondered if the room could collapse upon her.
Hand over hand, she edged back to her original position near the door and sank down to the floor. She pulled her knees up to her chest. Without warning, the process of breathing became uncomfortable. Maybe if she slowed her breathing, it would hurt less.
She leaned her head back against the earthen wall, dirt flaking and falling into the neckline of her gown. Fear set in. Yelling and banging had done little to help, and now the energy to try anything else was spent. In desperation, the back of her knuckles thumped against the door in a continuous rapping. The only hope now was that someone might hear. Her eyes closed as she tried to think calming thoughts.
As her mind drifted, the rapping on the solid wooden door continued.
Tap, tap, tapâ¦
Arbella and Tamara had spent a small amount of time in private conversations since their first encounter. The girl was barely sixteen and had been helping in the keep for around five years. Tamara was a wealth of information regarding the Sinclair clan. She had shared the sad news of Duncan's mother's â Rose's â death, holding Arbella's hand in comfort as she wept with grief.
Tap, tap, tapâ¦
Tamara explained that a year past Rose's death, Fletcher had arranged a marriage between Cainneach, his oldest son, and Lyall, the daughter of a fellow Scotsman. Fletcher was getting on in years and had a fierce desire to hear the pitter patter of grandchildren running through the keep before he passed on. Unfortunately, he'd made a poor choice if grandchildren from Cainneach had been his goal, because Lyall had had no intentions of letting Cainneach touch her. It was rumored she was in love with another. The story went that she had informed her father she didn't want a union with Cainneach, even threatening that if they were wed, she would never grace his bed. And from all indications, Lyall had told the truth and upheld the threat.
Cainneach had refused to force Lyall to consummate the marriage, secretly hoping his father would annul the arrangement. But for some unspoken reason, Fletcher never had.
Tap, tap, tapâ¦
Tamara explained that a year after the farce of a marriage occurred, Fletcher himself succumbed to death. At that point, Lyall became even more impossible to get along with. The complaints, which earlier were muffled and said under her breath, were now loudly vocalized and shouted to all. No one could do anything to please the mistress.
Tap, tap, tapâ¦
Tamara described Duncan as one who was happy, fun, and relaxed. On the practice field, he was the most skilled, but his knowledge was used to teach others, making sure to never discourage them or make them feel less than adequate. But not long after Fletcher passed, Duncan became sullen and withdrawn. It had been expected that Cainneach, as the oldest son, would take over the running of the clan. Duncan hadn't seem to mind the arrangement. In fact, he had seemed glad Cainneach had taken over. It seemed the youngest Sinclair wanted nothing more than to leave the Sinclair keep.
Tap, tap, tapâ¦
Cainneach had tried to discern Duncan's determination to leave. As a young man, Duncan had been offered the chance time and again to leave and go to school in France, yet he had refused. He was fond of saying the ”Sinclair home” was the only place he ever wanted to be. So why had he wanted to leave now?
The conversation between the brothers had come close to violence when Duncan refused to give Cainneach his reasons. Tamara said she happened to walk past Cainneach's room during one such conversation between the two brothers.
“I don't understand ye. Why now? Father is barely gone cold. I need yer support now more than ever.”
“Nay, ye don't. The men, they are loyal to ye. No one doubts yer authority.”
“Nay, Duncan, ye canna go.”
Duncan had pleaded, “I must.”
“If ye must go, then ye must have a reason. Until ye give me yer reason, I canna let ye leave.”
Duncan's head fell. From where Tamara stood, Duncan hadn't seem to want to leave. Tamara had assumed the man could think of no other way to fix what ailed him.
Sighing with regret, he'd said, “I truly wish to tell ye, Cainneach, but I canna. Ye are going to have to trust me that this is the only way.”
Cainneach had turned his back before speaking. “Then go. I trust ye to know the right thing.”
Tamara related that Duncan had left at that moment and had not returned until recently. No one had known for sure why Duncan had left. The servants speculated he was like Joseph from the Bible. Just like Potiphar's wife made unwelcome advances on Joseph, it was believed Lyall had made unwelcome advances toward Duncan. But rather than hurt Cainneach with this revelation, Duncan left.
Tap, tap, tap⦠Arbella continued as she drifted back to the present.
The air in the room was almost gone. Arbella was light-headed, and still no one had found her. She tried calling out, “Help, help,” but it came out in a weak whisper that no one would hear through the thick walls.
Placing her legs out and crossing them at the ankles, she found a comfortable position.
Would her body ever be found?
she wondered as she lifted her hand and tapped on the door one last time. Tap, tap, tapâ¦
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The village seamstresses gathered at the keep for their sewing circle. Every week they would gather and do the mending for the laird's family. Each time they met, they would draw sticks to determine who would mend the clothing of mistress Lyall. Of late, Lyall's mending alone had outnumbered the rest of the keep. Each meeting it seemed like the lass brought every gown from her wardrobe for “adjusting.”
As the ladies sat around in a circle, they couldn't help but talk about all the extra clothing Lyall was adding to the pile. This week the drawing of sticks had been skipped. The mistress's pile had grown to exponential proportions, and the only way to complete the mound was for each lady in the circle to grab a gown from the stack.
